


happy birthday, by the way

by antinyettetopaz



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-25 01:00:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22027369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antinyettetopaz/pseuds/antinyettetopaz
Summary: Nothing can be worse than to be alone on your birthday in a country you barely know. Laura meets Carmilla briefly at a bar, and if nothing means anything, that was even worse than the birthday issue.
Relationships: Laura Hollis/Carmilla Karnstein
Comments: 1
Kudos: 32





	happy birthday, by the way

**Author's Note:**

> hi again  
> i wrote this like a month ago and i have no idea why im posting it since it's very personal but you know... when in rome
> 
> obs: picture laura being from anywhere in south america (i'm from brazil and her character is based off moi so hahah) and carmilla being from anywhere that's not america so the joke will make sense (you'll understand)
> 
> enjoy it!!!

She gently put her guitar on the floor, resting its arm against the wall behind her. The dim lights were already taking place around the small bar downtown. Outside the windows, the city was starting to shut down, slowly as it ever did. She thanked the audience and, from the few tables left, she heard some claps. She was exhausted. Physically, mentally and everything in between. She put on a smile and thanked once again. A glance at the clock and she now knew that she had been awake for more than 16 hours, and she thought her body would collapse any time. A cup of the bar’s strongest coffee was all she wanted, but she knew she couldn’t. She had to sleep early to wake up early again tomorrow. Which she already failed, because the smallest needle on the clock was almost hitting number 11 and soon it’d be almost midnight and she still hadn’t eaten anything since lunch.

She made her way to the counter that divided the kitchen from the bar, and saw the waitress coming towards her. When she first met Perry, she never thought she would be this nice to her. Her girlfriend was the sweetest, and their rescued kittens were even sweeter. With a weak smile, she tapped her fingertips on the counter, while the other hand held her head up.

“Fries with fried chicken?” Perry asked, the cloth in hands, soaked in alcohol, wiping the surface in a pure gesture of habit. “You look terrible.”

“Thanks, I try.” She mocked. “And yes, please. No ketchup. Can I also have some water?”

“Sparkly?” She shook her head no. Perry walked to the freezer and took a fresh, cold bottle and handed it to her. “Can you believe some people actually eat fries with ketchup, though?” Perry stated, the crinkle up on her nose making her disgust clear.

“Monsters. I will be sitting right there, okay?”

“Sure. Same table as always.” She smiled. “ Hey, Carmilla?”

“Hm?”

“You were great today. Was the last one a new song? I’ve never heard that one before.”

“Kind of. Just trying some new stuff.” Carmilla shrugged. “But, thank you.”

“Sure. Your food without ketchup will be right there.”

Carmilla giggled. She made her way to her favorite table, the one in the corner, right under the broken lamp that stayed only half on. She could perfectly see the small, improvised stage from there. Her guitar case, the stamp from her home country, from when she came to Canadian lands, brought a sudden wave of nostalgia and homesickness of some kind that she hasn’t felt in ages. She worked her ass off to pursue her dream. She loved music, that’s what she wanted to do, so she went and did it. Countless nights of no sleep whatsoever and tears for days. Not even once it was because she missed home. _It’s probably this stupid date_ , she thought. But, at the end of the day, it was worth it.

Out of habit, she lit the screen of her phone, the tips of her left fingers were red and swollen and now she wished she had listened to the guy from the music store and had used nylon strings instead. The sound of the steel strings were heavenly to her ears, but her fingers couldn’t agree much. Just a text from her brother from an hour ago that she decided to answer right away before he and her whole family thought she had died in foreigner lands. 

_How’s the birthday girl doing? Don’t forget you have family over here, you hear me? Love you!_

**_Sorry. I was working. No, it actually sucks because I’m eating french fries alone and I have to wake up at seven tomorrow and I haven’t eaten in 10 hours. But so far so good. Miss you, bud_**.

She typed quickly and hit send, with a sad smile followed by a sigh that she didn’t know she was holding in. She did miss him. Not the times that he flickered her ear and ran away, or the times that he would steal her box of milk before bed when it was the only one left. If only it had lasted only while they were kids, though.

Carmilla took a sip of her water, feeling the discomfort of hot water falling into an empty stomach.

“Uh, hi, excuse me.” A voice echoed from behind her. A feminine one. “Hey, I was watching you earlier today. I don’t want to bother, I just really want to tell you that you’re really good. Like, really good. Your voice is amazing.”

Carmilla didn’t know what to answer for a second, until her ears caught up with her brain. She smiled weakly, not because she wasn’t happy hearing that, but mostly because even her facial muscles were tired. No pun or joke intended.

“Oh, thank you so much. It really means a lot.” Carmilla said back, watching the girl blush. Her glasses covered it up a little, but she could still see the pinkish tone on her pale skin, even under dim lights. “I know you’re probably very tired, but I did peek. You’re not from here, are you?”

“How do you know?”

“Your guitar case.” She eyed the stamp glued to the black hard case on the floor. 

“Overseas. Literally. And, not to be rude, judging by your accent, neither are you?”

“Not literally overseas, but from the nice part of America. South, I mean. Came here to try to be a writer, but people are more interested in everything else other than books.”

She had a certain sadness and excitement in her tone that was quite intriguing. Before Carmilla could answer back, Perry appeared with a plate full of french fries and that crunchy chicken that made Carmilla’s mouth water.

“Hey, there. I didn’t know you were still here.” Perry said to the girl standing near the table as she made her way to put Carmilla’s food on the table.

“Yeah, I think Kirsch forgot to bring me the bill. I already paid, though. I was just leaving.” She pointed with her thumb, over her shoulder, to the back where the exit door was placed. Her eyebrows raised to her hairline as soon as she got a glimpse of the food. “No ketchup?”

“You’re the only weirdo around here, cutie. No one eats fries with ketchup, I told you.” Perry snapped back jokingly.

“You’re missing out on a heavenly flavor. Your loss, not mine.” She shrugged with half a smile on her face. “Well, it was nice talking to you. Good luck with your music. You’re really good. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise, okay?”

Carmilla nodded with a smile, holding a single French fry between her middle and index finger. As she watched her walk away in slow motion, something inside her made Carmilla call her out.

“Uh, hey, thanks for keeping me company, even if it was just for a little bit.” She meant it. It was the first birthday she didn’t spend by herself and, _somehow,_ her company was very nice. She almost wanted to ask her to stay for a bit more. Almost.

“Sure thing. Enjoy your chicken.”

“I’ll maybe even ask Perry to bring me some ketchup.” Carmilla joked.

“Gross!” Perry yelled from behind the counter, where she was putting bottles and silverware back into their proper places.

“Will you stay for a little bit more if I do?” Carmilla said, smile slowly disappearing now, apprehensive eyes staring into hers.

“It’s tempting. You could try,” she said. “But, trust me, you don’t want Hurricane Laura in your life and especially on your birthday.”

_Laura._

“What if I do?”

“Highly recommend you do not.”

“I’m willing to take the risk,” she said kicking the chair in front of her with her foot, as an invitation for Laura to sit down. “I’m even eating fries with ketchup!”

“That’s a lot of risks for one night, though. Perry, ketchup!” She yelled and Carmilla was a hundred percent sure Perry rolled her eyes and probably was, very angrily, already getting it. “Happy birthday, though. It must be difficulto to not be with your family.”

“Meh,” she shrugged. “I’m used to it. Doesn’t really bother me anymore.”

“At some point it stops hurting, until someone comes and reminds you about it. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. It doesn’t hurt anymore.” She lied. Perry’s hand appeared with the bottle of red sauce in it and Carmilla looked up and thanked her.

“Just so you know, it’s gross. I don’t know how anyone would let Laura eat anything unsupervised.”

“Excuse me, I only have very exquisite taste.” Laura snapped back, defensively.

“Yes, really _esquisito._ ” Perry answered back with a Spanish accent, that Laura was sure it was a failed attempt to imitate hers, or any South American one.

Carmilla poured some ketchup on the plate, very hesitant to dip her food in that.

“Go ahead!” Laura said impatiently, but the smile never leaving her lips.

“If I vomit you’re paying for it.” She said before she quickly dipped a single fry in it and put it in her mouth. The sourness actually didn’t go that bad with the saltiness. It was actually very tasty.

“It’s not that bad. It’s quite good, actually.”

Laura cheered with a very audible _“yes”_ from across the table. “See? I told you it was good. My job here is done.”

Carmilla watched Laura as she stood up and put the chair back into place. She didn’t want her to go. She wanted to ask her to stay and to know more about her books. Did she write poetry? Fiction? Maybe a romance novel? Or, maybe Carmilla had the wrong impression and she actually liked to write about Science. Biology, Chemistry even. Was she a fan of sci-fi? She looked like she enjoyed some cliché dramas. She wanted to know it all, but she couldn’t voice it.

“I’ll see you around, Carmilla. And, again, happy birthday.” She placed her hand on Carmilla’s shoulder as she passed by her. A blue ring on her thumb and, _was that a sun? And waves?_

Of course.

_Starry night._

“Are you sure you don’t want to share this delicious ketchup and chicken with me? I have plenty.”

She sighed. Another smile. A sad one this time.

“I told you. You don’t want Hurricane Laura in your life. I’m like a volcano, but the difference is I’m always erupting.” She didn’t sound hurt. She didn’t sound like anything if Carmilla was being honest. It was like she had no feelings whatsoever. At least not when talking about herself. It was intriguing. She didn’t want to let her go.

She watched as Laura walked away through the tables towards the exit door, the leather jacket hanging on one of her shoulders. She didn’t look back. Carmilla didn’t know if she’d see that girl again.

_For someone who calls herself Hurricane Laura, she really did know how to mess with this entire day. Maybe that nickname really does suit her._

As Carmilla finished her food, she wondered for a second if that girl would ever use that moment in one of her books. If it was possible, though. Or if she would ever write about it.

She did.


End file.
